Everyone knows
by knowregrets
Summary: What if: Harry grew up with Sirius on the run. This is an AU. Been done before, I know, but I hope it will be slightly original! I have an outtake from here as a seperate story: Who am I?. Please check it out too.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** None of my initials are J, K or R, I am not one of the richest women in the country, nor am I famous the world over for my imaginative writing. I have borrowed these characters and this world for my own amusement but they do not and never have belonged to me.

**A/N:** this is a prologue to an AU that I'm not sure I will ever write – mainly because I'm not sure which story to write because there are at least three stories in here. If you like it please read and review and let me know whether it is worth me continuing.

**

* * *

****Everyone knows**

There are lots of things that everyone knows. Everyone knows the story. Everyone knows how Vol … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named went one Halloween night to Godric's Hollow. Everyone knows that while there he killed Lily and James Potter, tried to kill there baby son Harry but failed when the curse re-bounded. Everyone knows nothing has been seen of Vol … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named since. And maybe, just maybe, he is gone forever.

Everyone knows it was James Potter's best friend who betrayed the young family to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Everyone knows Black is one of the worst wizards ever to have lived, a spy for the dark: a betrayer, a murderer. Evil.

Everyone knows that after the disappearance of Black's master, a young, slightly inept, wizard called Peter Pettigrew, an old school-friend of the Potters and of Black, tracked Black down and confronted him. Everyone knows Black, mad with the loss of his master just as he had finally revealed himself to be the spy, blasted the young wizard (and with him half the street) to pieces.

Everyone knows that when the aurors turned up shortly after Black was still at the scene laughing at the destruction he caused. Everyone knows that the aurors, so horrified at the scene, took just a moment too long and Black apparated away into nowhere.

Everyone knows that Dumbledore took young Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and placed him somewhere, in hiding. Everyone knows Dumbledore put the strongest wards he cold around the place, warding it against intrusion from anyone who meant young Harry harm. Everyone knows the wards failed and young Harry was stolen from the house on his second birthday.

Everyone knows it had to be Black who stole him. Black was the only dark wizard who could possibly have had that much power. Black was one of the most loyal servants of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Everyone knows that Black must have thought there was some way he could bring his master back, that he could use Harry, kill him and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would return. Everyone knows there have been no sightings of Black or little Harry since. That poor little Harry must be nine years dead by now.

Everyone knows. So how could this be?

Minerva McGonagall was sat at her desk doing her annual task of sending out Hogwarts letters to new students. She was staring at the letter in shock. Minerva McGonagall who was strict, but fair. Minerva McGonagall who never had favourites. Minerva McGonagall who was staid and emotionless. Minerva McGonagall who punished strictly but never held grudges. Minerva McGonagall who had wept like a baby that first of November nearly 10 years ago when two young people's lives had been ripped from them. Minerva McGonagall who for many years had barely spoken to Albus Dumbledore since his wards had failed to protect young Harry. Minerva McGonagall who felt, in her heart, that she was responsible. That she should have known. Minerva McGonagall who would never admit her anger with Albus Dumbledore was her comfort, her way to hide her anger with herself.

Everyone knows the letter in front of her was impossible. But part of her, buried for many years, the part that was called hope said "Everyone knows the sky is blue" as outside the setting sun bathed the world in oranges, reds and purples and black clouds floated in from the north. "Everyone knows" she whispers.

She snatched the letter up in her hand and raced through the corridors of the school. "Albus!" she called out "Albus, quickly!"

* * *

Night falls on the Isle of Wight. An ordinary night for most, but not for the man and the boy. This is the last night for the two of them. They've talked about this night forever, the man and the boy. Talked about when it would happen. Just a few days before the boys eleventh birthday, they have to part. 

It wasn't easy. The man has raised the boys as a son. But he has taught him well. The boy knows as well has he does that it must happen. They say their goodbyes in their spot, their favourite spot.

It is time." He says sadly, "I have to go."

The young boy nods, he understands. Knowing it was coming doesn't make it any easier though, for either of them. And the boy holds back the tears as he hugs the only person he can ever remember loving him.

"Be brave. Think of your father and mother. Think of James and Lily. We will meet again Harry. I promise you."

"I know. I love you Padfoot."

"I love you to." And the man, known to his neighbours as Steven Brown, a quiet, unassuming, independently wealthy, slightly eccentric, widower, disappears into the night, never to be seen again.

Long after he has gone the boy sits there. Alone. Tears flowing silently down his cheeks. Waiting. And that's where they find him. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived still lives.

He is taken to a hospital, where he is poked and prodded and pronounced healthy for his age. He is taken to a room where people question him. The same questions. The same answers.

"My name is Harry James Potter. I grew up with my godfather. I love my godfather very much. My parents were James and Lily Potter and they died to protect me from an evil wizard. My godfather told me everything about them. He's left. I don't know where he has gone. Yes I know why he has left. Because you think he did something bad and he didn't. He would never hurt anyone. He looked after me." The same questions, the same answers repeated over and over until the boy starts to cry. And once he starts he can't stop. And then a man appears. Another man, an old man with long white hair, a long white beard and blue eyes that look as if they can see into people's souls.

"Hello Harry. My name is Professor Dumbledore."

"Have you come to take me to Hogwarts sir?" The boy looks at the old man, pleading silently.

As they leave he hears the others behind him "He looks so much like James!"

"Except his eyes, he has Lily's eyes"

* * *

Everyone knows Sirius Black was a murdering traitor. But as Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore settle the Boy-Who-Lived" down to sleep, they see something in his eyes that any boy raised by the darkest of dark wizards couldn't possibly show. They see a boy who is both loved and loving. And they wonder. "Could everyone possibly be wrong?" 


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Despite the fact it was my birthday yesterday, nobody has given me the rights to Harry Potter, the world or any of the characters in it. This is most unfair and if I weren't far to old for sulking to be attractive in any way shape or form I'd be pouting right now.

A/N Reminder: this is an AU. This first chapter looks at Sirius' POV of the events in the prologue. It's kind of a strange chapter because it is first person and there isn't much of a plot this chapter, it's more like a second introduction. However the plot is coming in later chapters I promise!

* * *

**Chapter one: Alone**

I trusted him. I would have trusted him with my life – I did trust him with James' and Lily's. I was wrong, so wrong, how could I have been so wrong? It was my fault. All of it: James, Lily, Peter and even Remus, poor Moony. I can't believe I didn't trust him. That's a lie, yes I can. They were dark times, scary times. We were all paranoid. Not paranoid enough though.

I look back on it and I see the signs. It was always Peter now I think about it, Peter who fostered my distrust of Moony. Peter who, every so subtly, started hinting at things. Pointing out, with that puzzled, slightly stupid, look on his face that the Death Eaters seemed to know some of the intimate details of our lives, that it was almost as if the spy in the order (we all knew there was one) knew things that nobody except us marauders knew. Us marauders. The four most accomplished pranksters Hogwarts ever saw.

Peter was never really fully a part of us, now that I look back on it. We tolerated him because he was our audience, James and I. Remus was our friend, our equal. The only one who was safe in disapproving of us. He never stopped us, but he did make us feel bad about our actions sometimes. Remus was our conscience. Peter was our fan. He cheered us on, manipulated us, right from way back. He wasn't nearly as stupid as we thought him. He wasn't strong, wasn't powerful, wasn't book smart. But he had street smarts as I suppose you'd call it. By staying in with us, by being important to us he was protected. Moony would help him in classes and Prongs and I would keep others from bullying him. Prongs and I: the darlings of Hogwarts. The smartest, most arrogant, most privileged (to outward appearances) students in the year, possibly even the school. People ignored Peter because we were there. We ignored Peter – I can't call him Wormtail any more. Wormtail was a friend, a name for happy remembrances. As it turned out, Wormtail wasn't reality.

I've tortured myself over this, time and again. Was it our fault that Peter went over to Voldemort? I've thought about it so much and have come to a conclusion – in a way it was but in a way it wasn't. Peter was always attracted to power. At school he was our groupie, but out in the world there were far more powerful people. Peter went over to Voldemort because Voldemort was power. That part was not our fault. But part of it was. We revelled in Peter's infatuation with us. We encouraged it, rewarded it. We allowed him to remain the person he was because we never challenged it. We were young and stupid and every bit as arrogant as people thought us (in the most part). We were kids and we were flattered. We didn't grow up fast enough. We never had to.

I went insane that night. Completely insane. Seeing the ruins of Lily and James' house. Seeing their bodies. Seeing little Harry. I knew then what had happened but when I caught up with him…. I'm surprised I had the presence of mind to disapparate when the aurors arrived. After Peter had done his little disappearing trick. I searched for him for months. I probably would still be searching (a rat is very good at hiding and I wasn't thinking, I was just reacting) or I'd have been caught long ago if it wasn't for Harry.

Harry's first birthday had been such a joyous occasion. All of us there, friends. Celebrating. Little Harry was such as sweet child. I don't know that I could have loved him more if he had been my own. So I had to see him. Had to see my little Mini-Prongs on his second birthday. I dogged up, as Moony had jokingly referred to it, and snuck onto Privet Drive.

I could not believe it. That foul sister of Lily's and her even fouler husband. Their monstrous infant was in the garden with Harry and … I can't even describe the behaviour. Harry looked tiny, far smaller than a normal two-year-old. And those horrible Muggles blamed him for their little monster's behaviour. I couldn't leave him there. I just couldn't. And that was the saving of me. Harry thinks it was me who rescued him, but in truth it was he who rescued me. I took him away from that house, that situation. But he rescued me from my obsession with finding Peter. He gave me something to think about other than myself and my guilt.

Such a lovely little boy. He recognised me, it had been nine months but he remembered me. He called me Padfoot. And he understood me when I told him he had to pretend I was his Daddy when we saw other people. He behaved perfectly. I knew he was too young to tell the truth to and he never questioned me. Kids can accept things quite easily really – it's surprising. He never asked questions, I'd see questions in his eyes sometimes but he never asked.

We lived as Muggles to the outside world. An ordinary Muggle widower and his little Muggle son, living on the Isle of Wight. I knew I had to tell him the truth sometime but it was hard. I waited until he was six. He was still so young but he'd been at school two and a half years and been living a lie for four. Shortly before his sixth birthday he came home from school in a mood. Kept giving me questioning looks when he thought I wasn't looking. After several hours I finally got the truth. Some of the kids at school had been teasing him about not having a Mum. I knew there was more to it. The question he didn't ask. He knew he didn't have a Mum or a Dad and he wanted to know why.

So I sat him down, at the beginning of the summer holidays, the day after his sixth birthday. I told him. Not the whole truth but part of the truth. It became a tradition. On the first of August every year I'd tell him a story, a true story. A bit more detail every year, as he grew older, as he could understand more. Now he knows the whole truth about his parents, about me, and about Peter. He is ready for Hogwarts. I know he is ready. And they will come. They will come for me as both Harry and I know they will.

Over the last nine years Harry has grown up to be such a wonderful boy. He has James' flair and Lily's bravery but more than that. I loved Harry the baby because he was James' son. I love Harry the boy because he is Harry. I no longer see a Mini-Prongs when I watch him playing in the garden, nor do I see Lily when I look into his bright eyes. I see Harry. I don't know when this change happened it was a gradual thing. James was my friend and a wonderful man. Harry is my Godson and I love him as if he were my son.

Leaving Harry is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. The last few months we have been preparing, or trying to. We've been talking a lot. I've been concentrating on happy stories about Hogwarts. I want him to have a good time there, as good a time as Prongs and I had. I want him to look forward to going, not to dwell on us parting. I'm doing enough swelling for the two of us.

For the last few months I've been going into his room at night and watching him sleep. Just sitting there watching him. He has become my life. I don't know what I'm going to do now. But now it's time. Tonight I have to leave.

Maybe it is cowardice to run again, I don't know. But now I need to carry on. I've spent nine years looking after Harry, looking after the only thing in my world that is left that means anything to me. Now I'm back on the hunt. But I no longer have the same enthusiasm for it I once did. I find I no longer hate Peter. I don't feel anything much any more. There is a hole inside me, a hole that blots out my ability to feel anything. A Harry shaped hole. I'm going back to my search for Peter but I'm no longer even sure why. What is the point, alone?


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: still not mine even though I asked very nicely.

* * *

Chapter two: Mystery 

'Well that was an odd start to a summer vacation.' Dumbledore thought to himself. 'And it isn't over yet.' He thought wryly as he heard the knock on his door and Professor McGonagall entered.

"Well?" She asked.

"Tired, but otherwise I'm fine." He replied, wilfully misunderstanding her. As her eyes narrowed he felt a little guilty and he held his hand up to forestall her. "Black had gone by the time the Aurors arrived. Harry was there, they took him back to the Ministry and questioned him for hours until I managed to persuade them to let him go. I've put him in one of the visitors' suites for the night." An understatement, it had taken a lot of fast-talking on his part to get the lad released. He had had to point out several times to Fudge that as far as anyone was aware Harry had neither done nor come to any harm.

McGonagall sat down rather heavily. "How is he?"

"He seems …" Dumbledore paused for a moment "well." He said in a mildly surprised tone. There wasn't much that surprised him these days. He had noticed in the past that people seemed reassured by his knowledge and had, over the years, become practiced at hiding his surprise on the rare occasions that he felt it. "Harry appears to have been fond of Black and certainly exhibits all the characteristics of a child brought up in a loving home."

"Brought up how?"

"Well that's the question isn't it?" The two sat in thoughtful silence for a while. "It almost seems like … but that seems too unlikely. Doesn't it? I wonder..."

"Well thank you! That was definitely worth saying, it all makes so much more sense now!" McGonagall responded tartly.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "My apologies Minerva. I am tired and was merely thinking aloud." She merely sniffed in response. "We should perhaps leave speculations to another day. I have a feeling that answers will neither be quick nor obvious." He continued firmly. "Tomorrow we must find somewhere for Harry to stay for the rest of the vacation." For some reason he was feeling immeasurably reassured by their conversation. The last nine years had been hard on both of them. Minerva's anger with him (while both justified and but a small fraction of his own anger with himself) had made his life difficult. She was someone who, in a strange way, he considered his closest friend and for the last nine years their conversations had been solely about the school. Those nine years had taken their toll on him, he felt old, as he never had before. But now, finding Harry alive and apparently well had started to give him new hope and Minerva's reaction that evening had helped no end.

* * *

Harry woke the next morning confused about where he was. Then he remembered. The previous evening he had tried to be so brave about Padfoot leaving him, about his life being turned upside down again. But the men just kept on. He kept telling them but they just kept on going. He was feeling so unhappy anyway that it all became just too much and once he started crying he couldn't stop. He had thought he had cried himself out but, that morning, as he thought about Padfoot again he couldn't help crying once more. 

"Stop!" He told himself firmly. "Stop right now. Be brave. Be a Gryffindor. Make Padfoot proud." He took long deep breaths while he tried to pull himself together. "I'm at Hogwarts. I'm safe. I will see Padfoot again. I will!" He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head firmly to get rid of the final tears. Then he opened his eyes and looked straight ahead. "I will!" Having put his tears behind him forever (well for the moment anyway) he got out of the bed and made his way into the bathroom to take a shower.

An hour later, washed and dressed and with a breakfast inside him, he found himself sitting in Professor Dumbledore's office opposite the headmaster and a tall thin woman with black hair and glasses who was introduced as Professor McGonagall. She was looking at him quite intensively, as if, by staring, she could see inside him. He felt rather nervous about her scrutiny and so tried to concentrate on looking at Professor Dumbledore.

"Well now Harry, I know this must be difficult for you, especially after yesterday, but we'd like to ask you a few questions." Harry gulped and nodded his head concentrating on the kindness in Dumbledore's eyes, a kindness that had been absent in the wizards who had questioned him so thoroughly the previous day. "Perhaps we could start with you telling us what you know about yourself?" Dumbledore suggested.

"OK. Um, well I am going to be eleven next week. My Mum and Dad, they were killed by an evil wizard when I was a baby but the wizard couldn't kill me and no-one knows why. I grew up with my Godfather but he is on the run now as people think he is bad but he's not 'cos he told me he'd rather have died himself than let my Mum and Dad be hurt. I'm going to start Hogwarts in September." Harry was looking at Professor Dumbledore as he said this and noticed that Dumbledore smiled slightly at the last sentence. He started to panic – what if he wasn't allowed to go? He continued in a rush "And I have a bag of money in my trunk to buy my wand and school supplies and I won't be a burden I just need somewhere to stay until then and I can pay some rent or something and I'm generally good and won't be much trouble even though Padfoot says his hairs are starting to go grey because of the jokes I've played on him but I don't think he means it 'cos he always smiles at me when he says it and I'll be good, please sir I'll be good, I just want to be able to come to school and ..."

Dumbledore held up his hand to stop the flow of words "I'm sure you will be good and of course you are coming to school in September Harry." He said calmly. "Now, if you don't mind I'd like to ask you a bit about Sirius, your Godfather. Now, you say that people think he's bad." Harry nodded. "But he isn't."

"No sir, he's wonderful."

"Do you know why people think he's bad?"

"Yes sir, they think he betrayed my Mum and Dad, but he didn't."

"Are you sure he didn't?"

Harry frowned slightly. "Yes of course, he'd never do anything like that. He loved my Mum and Dad." He said firmly.

"Do you know why people think he betrayed them?"

"Because they think he was their secret keeper but he wasn't, they switched and it was Pettigrew."

"How do you know that?" Professor McGonagall interrupted.

"Because Sirius told me." Harry said simply.

The two professors looked at one another for a moment before turning back to Harry. "Have a lemon sherbet." Professor Dumbledore offered him.

As Harry and Dumbledore sucked on their lemon sherbets (McGonagall had refused with a sniff) the two professors returned to their questioning. This time starting with how Harry had grown up, where he had lived, what he had done, what Sirius had taught him. McGonagall's eyebrows were raised at a few points (such as when Harry told them that Sirius had rescued him from the Dursley's because they locked him in a cupboard at nights) but both of them kept calm and relaxed through the morning, which helped Harry keep relaxed too.

It was about an hour later when they came back to the topic of Harry's parent's death. Harry remained insistent that it was Pettigrew not Sirius who had betrayed them. "You see Harry," Dumbledore said, "it is hard for people to believe Sirius is innocent because of his actions when Peter Pettigrew confronted him. Do you see the difficulty?"

"Yes." Said Harry simply. "I know, Sirius told me that Pettigrew framed him cleverly before he changed."

"Changed?"

"Into his Animagus form." Said Harry, as if it was obvious.

"Pettigrew wasn't an Animagus." Said Professor McGonagall.

"Yes he is. He's a rat." Harry paused, the professors were sat before him open-mouthed. "That's what Sirius is doing now." Harry continued before either of them could speak. "Looking for him. Sirius told me that nobody would believe him until he found him. I think rats are probably very difficult to find." He finished sadly. "There are so many of them and they're so small."

"Are you saying Pettigrew is still alive?" McGonagall asked intently.

"Of course." Said Harry. "He cut off his finger and ran away. Sirius told me."

* * *

"An interesting conversation." Dumbledore was the first to speak after Harry had been sent off with one of the house elves to get some lunch. "There's no proof of course." 

"It's impossible." McGonagall replied. "Completely impossible. Pettigrew just wasn't capable of that kind of magic, not capable at all. It takes years, years of study. Years. And talent, far more talent than Pettigrew ever had."

"It's plausible, if Pettigrew had had substantial help."

"Help?" She queried, and then it occurred to her. "You mean Potter and Black."

"Yes, I think there are some interesting holes in young Harry's account. Holes that might be explained if he was protecting his Godfather, protecting him from anyone knowing that he was an illegal Animagus. And of course if he was, it is probably the disguise he is currently using."

"They were two of the brightest students ever had in my class. They had the ability but …" She trailed off. "Of course, there is one person who would know if Pettigrew – if they all …"

"Indeed there is. I think we should have a word with Mr Lupin. He will, at least, be delighted to know that Harry is alright."

"And in the meantime, what are we going to do with young Mr Potter for the summer?"

"That, at least, I think I have an answer for." Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, I think that will do very nicely."


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: all the characters and the world they inhabit belong to JKR not me.

A/N, this chapter is a bit of a "bitty" chapter, sorry. There were several things happening in the same time period that all needed to be included.

* * *

**Chapter three: A New Home**

"Go 'way!" The voice was barely more than a gruff murmur, but the tapping noise didn't stop, if anything it got louder. Finally the man managed to pull himself into a rough semblance of 'awake' and stumbled to the window letting in the persistent owl. He fumbled with the letter for a short while until it finally came free. The, slightly offended, owl hooted at him reproachfully and flew off. "Beastly bird." He collapsed back onto the chair and reached for the bottle of Firewhisky on the table. Ignoring the glass he tried drinking straight from the bottle, but there were only a few drops left. Merlin, just how much did he drink last night? He wasn't normally a heavy drinker, but this last week had been rough.

First there had been the full moon. Those were always bad these days. The wolf missed his friends, missed the freedom. It had been years but the wolf still felt it like it was yesterday. He'd barely been able to stand the next day and a huge gash on his thigh was just the most serious of the many injuries the wolf had inflicted on him during the night. And then there was losing another job. He'd struggled into work as soon as he could after the full moon but as soon as he turned up he knew.

"It's not that I'm prejudiced, no of course not," said his boss, unable to even look him in the eyes, "it's just that you lied. I would have understood but if I can't trust you …" the man had trailed off. Not a very convincing tale, but just an example of one he had heard so often. "Look" the man had continued more firmly, "it's the customers I'm thinking about, what if they found out?"

He hadn't bothered responding. What was the point? It had happened before, and it would undoubtedly happen again. He had just turned round and limped home, stopping only to buy a half-dozen bottles of Ogden's on the way home. All of which he had now drunk he realised as he looked around the room. No wonder his head felt like it was going to explode and he felt like he was going to … oh no! He pushed himself upright and stumbled towards the toilet, hitting the door frame on his way and not quite reaching the desired receptacle in time. Blast! He'd have to clean that up now. Or later. Definitely later.

* * *

"I refuse!" The woman screeched at the old man in front of her. "Absolutely not!" 

"You agreed once before when …"

"I didn't have much choice then did I? The brat dumped, yes dumped on my doorstep with a not saying he'd die if I didn't. Well I did and then one of your lot came and took him and I was glad to be rid. And now you want to bring him back! He lived all right so far hasn't he? And I'm not having my Duddy contaminated by that, that … you lot!"

"How is your son?"

"You leave my son alone! I won't have it! I won't have it, you hear?"

"I was merely being polite Mrs Dursley."

"Polite!" The woman screeched at the top of her voice, "What would any of you freaks know about polite?"

"Mrs Dursley!" She went quiet at the look in the old man's eyes. "Mrs Dursley, I apologise for taking up so much of your time. Fortunately I have other options, I merely thought, since you were his family that you should be given the opportunity to have a say. Since you do not wish to, I will simply wish you good day." And with that Dumbledore disappeared with a loud crack.

* * *

It wasn't until nearly midday when he stirred into consciousness again with a large groan. Just exactly why was someone playing the drums in his head? He opened his eyes. Ah yes, drink. His mouth felt like, like … oh. Yes, well, he really ought to clean that up. And soon he could smell it from here. 

About an hour later, having stood in his shower for a significant period of time, he felt almost human again. He made his way back down to the kitchen and started to get rid of the debris of the last few days (he must check the calendar to find out just exactly how long it had been). There was a rolled up parchment on the table – now how had that got there? He narrowed his eyes and frowned, trying to concentrate, to remember. There had been a noise, an owl! He remembered the reproachful eyes, poor bird having to deliver to a clumsy drunken fool.

He sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs and reached for the parchment. With a great deal of concentration he was able to make the words come into focus.

"My dear Remus,

I need your urgent assistance. Could you spare me some time to visit as soon as possible? I'll explain when you get here.

Yours in appreciation,

AD

OK. Each of the words made some sort of individual sense but, try as he might, put together it felt like meaningless dribble in his head. Coffee. That's what I need. Coffee. Three cups later and the note made much more sense. He went back upstairs to get himself ready for the journey. No way was he going to attempt to apparate in this condition. But he had a plan. Floo. Diagon Alley. Hangover potion. Hogwarts. Perfect. Flawless. He went back downstairs. Ah. Flaw. Trousers. Definitely trousers come first. He turned round. Damn, stairs again. For a moment he considered, were trousers really that vital? Fortunately (well fortunately for Albus Dumbledore at the very least) he decided that they probably were and started to wearily climb the stairs. And, he thought with the air of someone receiving a sudden revelation, underpants wouldn't actually hurt either.

Once back in his bedroom he contemplated his trousers for a while. Now this was easy. He'd done it before. But how? After falling over twice he remembered: one leg at a time was probably easier. Blast, the underpants should probably have been first.

* * *

"He's alive!" Remus couldn't name the feeling: shock, surprise, excitement, joy, hope, disbelief? It was a mixture of all these things "Harry. Alive." He paused to take this in. Then suddenly "How is he? Was he hurt? How did you find him? What about Sirius? Where is he?" 

Dumbledore put up his hand to stop the flow of questions. "First, he seems fine, a little lonely and frightened, but fine none-the less. His location was on his Hogwarts letter – how I don't know. There must have been anti-detection wards on his home but they appear to have been taken down shortly before the letters were due to go out. Taken down deliberately I might add." He paused. "As for Sirius, well I have a question for you."

"Of course Professor. I'll do anything to help." Remus felt as if he was alive for the first time in nearly ten years. "Anything!"

"That's a very rash promise to make to me!" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at him. "Fortunately I will try not to take too much advantage of it! Was Peter Pettigrew an Animagus?"

Whatever Remus had been expecting, that wasn't it. "Professor why … no never mind. Yes he was. His Animagus form was a rat. Wormtail we called him."

"And the others?"

"Prongs, James, was a stag." Remus paused and lowered his eyes. "Black is a dog. A large black dog."

"Harry believes, undoubtedly because Black told him so, that Pettigrew was the Potter's secret keeper, and that he framed Black by blowing up the street, cutting off his finger and transforming into his Animagus form."

"Peter! That's impossible! That's …" Remus paused. Peter couldn't have, James couldn't have, he'd have known. Someone would have said something to him. Peter couldn't have stayed in hiding for so long. It was impossible. Sirius managed, a sneaky part of his mind reminded him. But Sirius was so much cleverer than … But Sirius had a small boy with him and he still managed. Peter could have done it, if he'd stayed in his rat form. "He …But …" Dumbledore watched Remus closely as the thoughts play out in his head. "I suppose … I mean, he could …"

"It's a possibility isn't it?" Dumbledore seemed to know exactly what Remus had been thinking. "Of course, it might not have happened but …"

"But it could have." Remus finished. "I suppose it could have." He paused, "Where's Harry now?"

"At this very moment, he's down in one of the guest suites packing his things." The two men sat in silence for a while. Remus had just opened his mouth to ask if it was possible he could see Harry when Dumbledore spoke, "I have something I need your help with Remus. Something that, under the circumstances, I feel you would be the best person to do." Remus looked up from the patch of floor he'd been examining, "You would need to get a leave of absence from work …"

"That," said Remus wryly, "will not be a problem."

* * *

"I've strengthened the wards around the house." 

"Right Professor"

"And if there is any problem, any hint at all of a problem …"

"The boy will Portkey out of here straight to Hogwarts. Yes Professor. Don't worry, we'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will. I have the utmost confidence in you."

"Thank you Professor."

"No. Thank you." And with that, Dumbledore apparated out of the small remote house.

Harry was sat in his new bedroom, looking around at the flowery wallpaper and shabby, overstuffed, furniture. There was a knock at the door. "Come in." He said quietly.

"Hello Harry, I'm just making some tea."

"Thank you. I'll be right down."

"We'll do something about this room, I'm sure it's not quite to your taste. Perhaps some posters or something?"

Harry smiled. "That'd be good. Thanks Mrs Figg."

"My pleasure Harry, my pleasure."

* * *

A/N OK, I admit it, I was deliberately trying to fool you. Did it work? 


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter four: Carly**

Sirius thought several things that were fairly unprintable as he hid round the corner from where the Death Eaters were. If he'd even thought that they were this active, that the place would be occupied, he'd never have come here. The anti-apparation wards on the building meant that he had to get outside before he could escape them – he would go Padfoot but the place was warded so tightly that slightest hint of magic was likely to make them aware of the intruder in their midst, and he couldn't defend himself in Padfoot form, as versatile as a dog was, it couldn't hold a wand.

Why on earth had he come here? Another part of his brain answered without thinking, it was the last place he'd tracked Wormtail to, before he'd given up the hunt to look after Harry. He'd hoped the building would provide him with some clues. Well it had provided clues to some extent – just not about Wormtail. He had no idea that the Death Eaters were still so active, nor (as far as he was aware) had anyone else. They had obviously been keeping their activities very quiet since Voldemort had disappeared.

Blast, they were moving. He moved quickly, but stealthily, away – what was that? It was a small opening at the bottom of the wall, just big enough for a man to get through on his belly – he crawled through.

"Ooph!" He had landed on top of something, something soft that had gone "Ooph". He raised his head slightly. It was a girl – a woman really, dressed in Muggle clothes but carrying a wand. He opened his mouth to ask her, well who was she, what was she doing and that sort of thing but she covered his mouth with her hand. Just in time, he heard the voices in the corridor above them.

"Where's the Mudblood?" The woman beneath him stiffened.

"I don't know. She isn't in the cell where we left her and I can't find her anywhere?"

"Do you still have her wand?"

"Um, I left it outside the cell when we locked her up, I'll go and look."

"Fool, she will have taken it! Search the building!" The Death Eaters separated.

Sirius and the girl stayed still and quiet, barely even breathing until they were sure there was no one left within hearing distance.

Sirius looked around "What is this?"

"Some sort of drainage channel I think, from the original castle." It was certainly a tight squeeze, Sirius started trying to shift himself so he wasn't lying completely on top of the girl, but then they heard noises in the corridor again – both of them froze. He could feel her breath just above his head, her chest rising and falling gently beneath him, in time with his own, slightly faster than normal but not panicked, not yet.

He studied her, she was pretty, early twenties he'd guess, she felt soft and, well, female, in a pronounced, although un-obviously displayed, way. He hadn't been this close to a witch for years: Harry, and keeping them both hidden, had taken up most of his energy. This girl, armed and dangerous though she looked, was not unattractive and he could feel himself start to react to being in such close proximity to her. Reactions he thought he'd all but forgotten. Reactions that he really wanted to take his mind off right now while there were Death Eaters searching right above them.

Silence reigned in the corridor at last. As soon as he was certain they were gone, the two of them could start to get out of there, and then he could think all he wanted about how soft and warm she felt, and about how she went in and out in all the right places and how she might feel beneath those sensible clothes she was wearing and about how she smelt of … no! Danger, they were in danger. He was not going to think about this. It was …

"This is sort of …" The girl paused, as if looking for the right word.

"Inappropriately erotic." Sirius supplied without thinking.

"Well I was going for awkward but you have a point."

He couldn't help it – he blushed. He hadn't blushed since he was twelve; it was a most unpleasant feeling. "Perhaps we should …" he started tentatively, then continued resolutely ignoring her raised eyebrow at his pause "try to find a way out?"

"I was hoping this drain might lead somewhere." She suggested.

"Right, Let's try following it." He looked at her expectantly.

"I would except I can't move as some bloke is lying on top of me."

"Ah, yes, of course." He shifted awkwardly so she could wriggle out from under him in the small, enclosed space. She did wriggle very nicely he found. 'Stop that Sirius' he said to himself firmly.

He crawled behind her, trying not to notice the way her bottom moved as she crawled along in front of him. Suddenly she stopped. He had been concentrating so hard at not looking at her rear end he practically crashed into it. "What is it?" He asked?

"Hole in the floor, large hole. I'm going to try and get down through it." With several false starts (and, not a little, muted swearing) they finally both managed to clamber down from the tunnel into a chamber below.

Now, at least, they were both upright. Sirius strode to the door of the chamber and peered out. His heart leapt. "I can see the castle exit." He said. "Looks clear of people at the moment, probably not for long though."

"Should we run for it?"

"Yes, and I think run is the appropriate word. Ready?"

She nodded. He grabbed her hand. "Stick together." He said firmly. "And wands out."

She complied. Just as they were about to run, there was a yell behind them. Sirius fired a curse over his shoulder; they heard a muffled thud but ignored it and started running. Death Eaters started to appear from all sides. Desperately they sprinted faster, Sirius started firing curses off in all directions, trying to force the Death Eaters to concentrate on protecting themselves, trying to distract them long enough to reach the outside of the anti-apparation wards. He heard her follow his example.

Sirius felt sure they had almost reached the outskirts of the anti-apparation wards when he was hit by a curse from behind. The world went dark.

* * *

He woke with a start and leapt to his feet, or at least tried to. His feet got tangled up in a blanket and he fell off the bed – hold on, that wasn't right.

"'Good morning' is actually a more usual greeting when one wakes up than 'aargh'." A pleasant female voice informed him kindly.

He looked up into the face of the young witch he'd encountered in the castle. "What …" he croaked.

"When you were hit I took a chance that we'd gone far enough outside the castle, grabbed your body and tried to apparate. It worked."

"Where are we?"

"My retreat. It's my holiday destination, I come here every year to get away from things, it's the only place I can always safely apparate to, no matter how exhausted I am. Breakfast?"

He looked around. They appeared to be in a one room wooden building. There was a bed, a sofa, a small table and some basic muggle cooking equipment and not much else. "Huh?" he said, suddenly realising she was looking at him expectantly.

"Breakfast. It's the meal you eat when you first wake up – usually in the morning. Did you want some?"

"Um …" actually he was, now he thought about it, rather hungry. "Maybe a little."

She turned back to the stove, politely averting her eyes from his awkwardness as he struggled out of the enveloping blanket. He made his way to the table and sat down. "My name's Carly." She told him. "What should I call you?"

That was odd. She hadn't asked, he realised, what his name was, merely what she should call him. "My friends call me Padfoot." He said truthfully.

She smiled at him. "Hopefully you'll allow me the same liberty then." She said. "What were you doing up at the castle?"

"Looking for something, someone. Not them." He added wryly. "They were unexpected. You?"

"I was out for a walk, thought the building looked interesting so went to have a look. Bit surprised by what I found. They captured me before I realised anyone was there."

He frowned a bit, realising that they must still be quite near the castle. She saw and guessed accurately the reason. "I think they've gone now, disappeared in the fear that we'd have told someone they were there." He grunted in reply, that made sense. "Unfortunately I haven't any Floo connection here, and I left my Owl at my London flat – when I say this is my retreat I do mean it! I would have apparated to somewhere to let someone official know but I didn't really want to leave you alone, I didn't know whether you were going to be all right." The way her hands were shaking he felt that she probably had other reasons for not apparating too, she can't have had much battle experience at her age, probably too young for the last war, and apparating while upset was likely to end with splinching.

She paused a bit, turning back to the food she had cooking. "Who were they?" She looked up at him, he looked a bit startled. "I mean you said you weren't expecting them so I wondered if you knew who they were?"

"Death Eaters." He said quietly. She looked at him with wide eyes.

"But … but …"

"I didn't realise you didn't know, but you must have been quite young when they were at the height of their movement."

She nodded, "I heard about them at school but …"

"They are still out there, not all of them were caught. Mostly they are too afraid to do anything much these days, too afraid to raise suspicion against themselves having escaped jail beforehand. I hadn't realised they still had such large meetings – Must be starting to get cocky again. Not a good sign." He was talking partly to himself, and suddenly noticed she was still looking at him as if shaken. "Or perhaps an aberration. Not to worry now, I doubt they'll come back here for a while. Think we gave them a bit of a scare. I hope so anyway."

The two of them ate breakfast, exchanging small talk. Sirius studied the young witch casually while he ate. Even though she still appeared quite shaken, she was, he realised, as attractive as he thought she was yesterday. Casually dressed, with untidy curls and no make up, not the sort of girl his family would have considered pretty, but still, attractive. Actually, much more his type than anyone his family would have considered pretty. A stray thought crossed his mind: 'James and Remus would have liked her. If we'd known her at school.' That was not what he should be thinking about, he reminded himself sternly.

"I should go." He said as he finished his breakfast. "Things to do and stuff. And you've been so kind."

"You saved my life." She pointed out.

"Goes both ways." He replied with a smile. "Still, I should … you slept on the couch?" He noticed a rumpled blanket, the twin to the one that had wrapped itself around him. "You didn't have to do that, you should have had the bed." He felt absurdly disappointed for some reason.

She smiled at him. "The bed was occupied, and you needed it more than I did."

The two of them were standing facing each other in the middle of the room.

"Thanks." He said quietly. "For everything." He reached out to shake her hand. A shock, like magic before a disapparation, went through him at her touch and he was reluctant to let go. Their eyes locked.

"No problem." She said hoarsely. "It's me who should be thanking you."

"Call it even." He suggested. Reluctantly he let go of her hand, but as he was about to turn to go he noticed her wincing as she lowered her arm. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm OK. Just a scratch I think."

"Let me see."

"If you have to go …"

"There's time."

She turned round, unbuttoning her loose shirt and exposing one shoulder. There was a nasty cut on it; she must have been caught by one of the Death Eater's hexes. "Sit." He ordered. "Do you have any medical supplies?"

"In the cupboard." Unthinkingly she gestured and winced again. He strode towards the cupboard and checked out her supplies. There were the basic first aid supplies you would expect in a wizarding household, plus a few Muggle remedies he never would have recognised if he hadn't spent the last nine years living as a Muggle.

"Better clean this wound out before closing it, just in case." He said softly as he gently slathered it with wound-cleaning potion. She really was very attractive, he thought to himself. Her skin felt smooth to his touch and her half unbuttoned shirt exposed the top of her breast. He felt his breathing get heavier and forced himself to concentrate. He reached for his wand and muttered a quick wound healing spell. "There." He said with a little more enthusiasm than he had meant to. "It should be all right. I'm not a qualified mediwizard or anything but I don't think it was too deep. If you get any problems, pop into St Mungo's and they'll check it over."

"Thanks." She said quietly, pulling her shirt back over her shoulder. "I guess I'm in your debt again!"

"Call it payment for breakfast." He grinned at her. She smiled back at him, their eyes locking again. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe. She reached up with her hand and gently touched his cheek, the smile dropping off her face.

Then before he knew what was happening, his mouth was on hers, his hands were tearing at her sensible muggle clothes, her hands were pulling his robes over his head and nothing else mattered. They ignored the bed. They even ignored the relative comfort of the couch. Instead they comforted each other. And the floor, well it was more comfortable than the stone drainage channel at the castle, and pretty soon, the only things they could feel were each other anyway.

* * *

"Goodbye Padfoot, whatever your real name is." She whispered later as she watched him disappear down the path. "And thank you, I had fun. Maybe we'll do this again someday?" But deep inside she knew they wouldn't. It was just going to be another one night, or in this case day, stand in the life of Caroline Davidson. Someday, she thought to herself, someday maybe I'll meet a man who can be more than that. Not today though. It wasn't today. She stood staring down the path until the noise of a passing gull brought her out of her reverie with a start.

Carly apparated straight to the Ministry without going home and informed some complete dunderhead about suspicious Death Eater activity at the castle. For some reason, prudence, or something else, she left all mention of the mysterious Padfoot out of it. The dunderhead didn't seem to believe her. Irritated she went back home.

Greeting her flatmate's query of "Good break?" With a quick "OK. Tell you about it later." She buried herself in the newspapers she had missed in the last week. There, staring out of one of them, was Padfoot's face, a younger Padfoot but not essentially any different. _Harry Potter found alive and well: but where is Sirius Black? _Said the headline.

"Tine?" She called out. "Who is Sirius Black?"

"Oh God, I'm always forgetting you're Muggle-born. Well …" Carly listened in wide eyed disbelief to the story. That simply could not be true. OK she'd only known the man for a day, less than really, but it couldn't be. She looked down at the photo, which grinned back at her. The same grin, the same look in the eyes, the same … she reached out her hand and touched the cheek of the man in the photo. The strange tight feeling that had appeared in the pit of her stomach when Tine started her story, grew heavier and she sat down heavily. It just couldn't be.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter five: The boy-who-still-lives**

All over the wizarding world, people were waking up to the same headline, the same story. The boy-who-lived still lives! It was the topic of conversation, the only topic of conversation.

"Good Gracious"

"What is it Arthur?" Molly asked. It wasn't often Arthur disturbed the breakfast this quickly while he was reading the paper, you could usually count on the Daily Prophet being the only thing in the morning to keep him quiet for five minutes, at least until he started railing about Rita Skeeter and the latest ridiculous accusation. That morning it had barely been half a second.

"Look at this Molly, 'Harry Potter found alive and well'. I thought Black would have killed him years ago!"

"Arthur really, do you have to say such awful things at breakfast?" She did, however, lean over to look at the headline he was holding up.

"Harry Potter!" Squeaked Ginny, "Really?"

"Yes, really. Looks like he'll be a classmate of yours after all then Ron."

"Huhuh porrer – clashma – ooh me he co to hohurts?" Ron replied. Mind you, it was a wonder he could say anything at all, his mouth was filled with porridge. Ron was fond of breakfast. Nobody in his family, however, seemed to have any difficulty understanding him.

"Yes, it says so right here, he'll be starting Hogwarts in September like you."

"Oh the poor boy. I wonder what he'll be like, raised by …" Molly trailed off. After all, that wasn't the sort of thing you discussed at breakfast either.

"Just think!" Said Fred enthusiastically. "Harry Potter at Hogwarts."

"How cool will that be?" George continued.

"Beyond cool!" Said Ron. Ginny's face fell. She didn't really like to think of next year, home alone, with Ron gone.

"Now boys, I expect you to be nice to the poor boy, he's probably had a hard life considering …" their mother trailed off again.

"Black's still at large though, no-where to be found when the Aurors turned up apparently." Arthur said. "I knew I should have popped into the office yesterday, miss all the gossip when I'm out on raids."

No one noticed, in the corner of the room, Percy's pet rat, Scabbers, freezing. No one in the room could have guessed the dilemma the rat was now facing. He knew. He knew. All that day the rat planned. He heard them talking. Percy was to get an owl; in exchange he was to be given to the youngest boy, Ron. Ron, who would be in the same year as Harry Potter, quite possibly in the same dorm – any child born to James and Lily and raised by Sirius would undoubtedly be a Gryffindor, just like the Weasleys. Harry Potter who would undoubtedly know all about the Animagus abilities of one Peter Pettigrew. All that day the rat planned his escape, cursing his bad luck. He'd had an easy life, these last 9 years. A pampered pet. Now it was over. Late that night, when the last Weasley had gone to bed, he opened his cage and snuck down stairs towards the kitchen door.

'Damn Sirius Black.' He thought furiously. 'Damn Harry Potter. Damn Vol – the Dark Lord who managed to get himself defeated in such an ignoble way, exposing me as a traitor to the only one who mattered: that obsessive idiot, Sirius Black. Damn Remus Lupin. Damn Dumbledore. Damn …'

"Scabbers? What are you doing? You stupid rat, don't you know there are cats out there? And gnomes and stuff?" To his dismay he felt two hands lifting him up and he looked up into the sleepy face of the midnight-snack seeking Ron. "I can see I'm going to have to get a better cage for you when you're mine!"

"Squeak!" He protested loudly. "Squeak!"

'Well, that was distinctly odd!' Thought Remus. It had started with a conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt, an auror friend of his. Actually no, it had started before then. It had started with Harry.

* * *

Dumbledore had arranged for Remus to meet Harry, to have a brief chat about Sirius. Obviously Remus had reviewed the conversation both Professors had had through the Pensieve beforehand, he had already seen how much Harry looked like James. But somehow it was different meeting him face to face. Remus had introduced himself and been completely unprepared for Harry's reaction. 

"You're Moony!" Harry had exclaimed delightedly. "I know all about you, did you really …" and headed off into what can only be one of Sirius' stories about their antics at Hogwarts. When Remus had admitted that yes, he had been the instigator of that little prank, Harry had first demanded, then recollected himself and asked politely for Remus to tell him how it was done. Harry didn't only look like an 11 year old James; he acted very much like him too. That was something Remus hadn't been prepared for.

Harry had been, not exactly happy, but willing to let Remus pull a picture of Sirius as he was now out of his mind. Remus had had to promise that he wouldn't pass the picture on to either Dumbledore or the Ministry, but would use it only in the pursuit of the truth – Harry's words. Remus had left the meeting feeling very peculiar, as if he had received another piece of a jigsaw but had yet to find any two that actually connected. It was obvious that Harry believed that Sirius was innocent. But more than that it seemed obvious that Harry had been raised to dislike Voldemort. He didn't see how an eleven-year-old could be so good an actor that in an unrehearsed conversation he could show such strong evidence of a false attitude. Was Sirius actually telling the truth? The small kernel of hope that his conversation with Dumbledore had planted grew slightly stronger.

It was after his meeting with Harry that he had met up with Kingsley. He hadn't actually meant to tell Kingsley anything, they'd been planning to meet up for a while and he had thought that he might be able to pick Kingsley's brains. Kingsley, however, wasn't stupid. Somehow he'd managed to get part of the story from Remus – the part about "there may be more to this", but not the details. He hadn't really wanted to know the details it was safer that way.

As they'd sat there, Kingsley casually mentioned an odd incident at the DMLE. Someone, a Muggle-born witch, had reported some strange activity near a castle that, had it been reported 10 years before, might have been considered to be Death Eater activity. Obviously she was mistaken so the DMLE wasn't investigating. If someone else happened to wander over to Duckett Street and happened to bump into a young witch called Caroline Davidson, they'd probably hear a conversation that was virtually useless for any purpose whatsoever.

Remus agreed that a discussion with said young woman would obviously be a waste of time and what number house should he avoid, just in case he happened to be in the area?

He'd found the young woman was, naturally enough, a little wary about him, but she'd happily consented to tell him the story, although some parts remained vague – like what had delayed her from reporting it further. But it was at the end of the conversation that things got odd. He'd shown her an old photo of Peter, and had elicited no sign of recognition. Then he'd shown her the picture from Harry's memory of Sirius. She had immediately denied any knowledge there as well, claiming that she didn't recognise him at all. Fair enough, but there was a picture of Sirius, taken 10 years ago, on the front of the newspaper at her right elbow. Surely she would have acknowledged a glimmer of recognition.

In addition, once she had warmed up to her story, she had been quite friendly, but as soon as he'd shown her the photographs she had acted like she couldn't get rid of him fast enough. There was definitely more to this than she had told him. Perhaps he should do a little investigating at this castle himself?

* * *

"Good morning Mrs Figg!" 

"Good morning dear, sleep well?"

"Fine thank you."

"Good, now have some breakfast." She handed him a large plate, filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes and toast. "You need you're strength today. We're going to travel to Diagon Alley today to pick up you're school things. Oh I haven't been to Fortescue's for years – we'll have to have an ice-cream sundae there after we've done our shopping." Harry sat there quietly, ploughing through his breakfast, listening to Mrs Figg reminisce about previous shopping trips. He had a bit of a funny feeling in his stomach – it wasn't the breakfast (although it didn't help that the scrambled eggs were the consistency of rubber) it was more that he'd never been out, in public, properly, undisguised to the wizarding world before. It was kind of scary and, more than ever, he wished Sirius could be with him.

* * *

'Well the castle was a waste of time.' Remus thought to himself. 'Not a trace of Wormtail's smell, although Padfoot had been there, and others.' He's searched the castle completely. There was evidence of activities that were less than pleasant, it had obviously been a Death Eater stronghold in the past and had recently been used of some malign purpose involving blood. The girl's story, as far as it went, had checked out. He'd found a room where she had been imprisoned. And also the drainage channel she had escaped by. Padfoot's scent had been mixed in with hers at the tunnel. Padfoot in human form rather than dog. It had been obvious to him that she had lied about it but he didn't know why. Well he had suspicions but … 

Remus was sat in his house. He had decided to go about this logically. Padfoot was not at all logical, nor was Wormtail, if he was still alive that is. If it was true, if Peter was alive, then what had he been doing the past 10 years? Hiding, obviously. But hiding where? In front of him was a map – a map showing all places in Britain with known Death Eater connections from the past war.

He must have been hiding as a rat – if he had once shown his human self he would have been recognised. So he must have been a rat. But he wouldn't have wanted to be out of touch – he would have wanted to know what was happening. Remus could feel he was on the edge of an idea but it wasn't coming to him. It was frustrating. Full moon was coming that weekend and he was starting to feel the effects. This was not the best time for thinking things through. 'How on earth' he wondered, 'was he supposed to find one rat?'

_

* * *

A/N: A big thanks to Alphabet over on Sugar Quill for the fantastic solution to the Scabbers question – more of which will appear in later chapters! _


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Pets**

Harry's stay at Mrs Figgs was, well, mostly dull to be honest. She seemed a nice enough woman (although a little cat-obsessed) but she wasn't Sirius. Their trip to Diagon Alley had been fun. He had bought his wand, and his schoolbooks (which looked very interesting) and an owl who he called Hedwig. And he'd had the most fabulous ice-cream. He hadn't been able to choose a single flavour so he had three flavours all piled on top of one another.

But in general there had been very little excitement that summer. He missed Sirius, dreadfully. He had managed to send Sirius one letter, using Hedwig, addressed to "Snuffles" which was one of the code names he and Sirius had decided on before parting. The previous week he had had a note back, via a disgruntled looking post owl who had arrived in the middle of the night. He had retrieved the letter as silently as possible, hoping not to wake Mrs Figg. It hadn't been a long note and it had included instructions to read and destroy. Harry didn't like doing that, he'd have liked to hold on to the letter and read it as often as he could but unfortunately he could see the necessity. While people might guess that he kept in touch with Sirius, it could be disastrous if they knew.

While the summer had been dull and lonely, he had very mixed feelings as September drew closer. He wanted to go to Hogwarts, he had wanted to go there for ages as he had heard so many stories from Sirius. But it was hard facing people who knew him – or thought they knew him anyway. Before he really felt ready for it, it was September and he found himself, with Mrs Figg, at Kings Cross station. The previous night, however, he had come up with a plan. He'd posed it to Mrs Figg at breakfast and she had seemed to approve. He was going to seek out Muggle-born students on the train and get to know them. That way they wouldn't know about him and Sirius until someone told them, by which time they would have met him and got to know him and might be prepared to believe him about it.

So he looked around the station eagerly, searching out for people who looked like Muggle-born first years. It didn't take long to spot one. A tall black boy, standing with his family, looking rather lost. Harry made his way towards them determinedly.

"Hi, are you going to Hogwarts?" He asked the boy.

"Yes!" The boy replied looking grateful. "It's my first year and I was wondering …"

"How to get on the platform?" The boy nodded. "Don't worry, it's my first year too but my Godfather told me all about it. It's dead easy. I'm Harry by the way."

"Dean. Dean Thomas and this is my Mum and Dad."

"Hello Mr Thomas, Mrs Thomas. Don't worry, I'll show Dean the way – Muggles can't get on the platform I'm afraid."

"Thank you Harry, that's very kind of you. Goodbye Dean darling, take care and be good." Harry looked away politely as Dean said goodbye to his parents. He spotted Mrs Figg, coming towards him and quickly went over to her.

"Thank you for letting me stay this summer Mrs Figg. I've appreciated it."

"You were no problem Harry, it's been a pleasure. I suppose you want to go on to the platform alone so I'll say goodbye here." To his surprise she gave him a brief hug. "You are a good boy Harry, I'll miss you."

Feeling slightly embarrassed he turned back to Dean. "Come on, let's go." He explained how to get on the platform and in no time the two of them were staring at the huge scarlet steam train.

"Cool!" Dean said with an awed voice.

Harry grinned at him. "Yeah. Come on, let's find a seat."

The two boys dragged their trunks into an empty carriage and before long, Dean started firing questions at Harry. "Are all your family wizards?"

"My Mum and Dad were but they died. I lived with my Godfather who is a wizard but we lived in a Muggle village and I went to a Muggle school so I haven't been around wizards much. My Godfather told me all about stuff though."

"Cool! What's Hogwarts like? I met this boy on Diagon Alley and he said there were houses and we got sorted do you know about that?"

"There are four houses. My Godfather said Gryffindor's the best. I want to …" they were interrupted by a knock on the door and a red-headed boy in tatty robes, who was nearly as tall as Dean, poked his head around.

"Can I sit here, everywhere is full?"

"Of course." Said Dean quickly. Harry was more reticent. He could tell by looking that this boy grew up in the wizarding world.

"My name's Ron, Ron Weasley." The boy said as he manoeuvred his trunk and a small cage into the room.

"Dean. And this is Harry. We're first years."

"Me too." He paused, looking at Harry in shock. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Harry looked him straight in the eye. Might as well get it over with. "Yes. Got a problem with that?"

Ron hastily looked away. "No, course not." He fiddled with his cage.

Dean looked puzzled but decided it wasn't the right time to pursue whatever it was. What's in the cage?" He asked. The cage was about a quarter of the size of Ron's trunk, covered with sawdust at the bottom and with a small cardboard box in the corner.

"Scabbers. He's my rat. He used to belong to my brother Percy but Percy got an owl this year 'cos of being made prefect. Wanna see him?

"All right."

"Come on out Scabbers come on, Ron called into the cage. "Show yourself to Harry and Dean." Two glowing eyes stared back out of the cardboard box at him. Scabbers, it seemed, wasn't coming anywhere. "Useless!" Said Ron. "Honestly I think he's sulking because of Hermes."

"Hermes?" Dean asked.

"Percy's new owl. Scabbers has been acting dead odd since Percy got him. I think he's jealous."

"What's your owl called Harry?"

"Hedwig. She's dead smart, really good with letters and stuff. You can borrow her if you want to send a letter home any time."

"Really? Cool. My Mum and Dad were amazed when they heard about post owls, It'd really stun them if I sent them a letter by owl!"

"You Muggle-born then Dean?" Asked Ron glancing at Harry in surprise. "My Dad loves Muggles, thinks they're fascinating. He's always talking about stuff they've invented like the fellytone." As both other boys looked a bit puzzled, Ron continued. "That thing Muggles use to communicate over long distances."

"Telephone." Harry and Dean said in understanding.

"Yeah, that. Hey, how come you know about that?" He said looking at Harry.

"Grew up in a Muggle village and all my friends were Muggles."

"Oh. Right."

Dean looked between the two of them. "So Ron, have you got any brothers and sisters?"

Ron groaned. "Lots. I'm the sixth boy, three of my brothers are still at Hogwarts. And I've got a younger sister. You?"

"Yeah, I come from a big family too. None of them are magical though, 'sfar as we know. No one knew the odd things I could do were magic until I got my letter. How 'bout you Harry?"

"No. My parents died when I was a baby and Siri – my Godfather never married."

There was an awkward pause again as both Harry and Ron seemed determined not to look at each other. As Dean groped round for something neutral to say the door to their carriage swung open. Dean's relief at the interruption, however, was short-lived as a pale pointy-faced boy with a sneer came into the carriage, followed by two large boys. They ignored both Dean and Ron and went straight to Harry.

"So it's true what they said then?" The pointy-faced boy said. "Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts."

Harry looked him up and down before replying. "Yes."

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe and Goyle." He indicated the two gorilla-like boys behind him. "You don't have to sit here you know Potter." He glanced at Dean and Ron dismissively. "We have a carriage further up the train."

"I'm happy where I am thanks." Harry replied shortly.

"Come on now Potter, you can do better than this, a poor excuse for a pure-blood and what looks like a Mudblood."

Harry leapt to his feet and looked Malfoy in the eye. He paused remembering one of the things Sirius had said. 'If you are going to insult someone, Harry, do it with a smile – drives the other bloke wild!"

He smiled sweetly and said "I'm not such a fool as to think that blood status matters in this world Malfoy. If I were, from what I've heard about your family, I'd be better off making friends with the giant squid than you. Now apologise to Dean for that offensive comment."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and behind him both Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly. "Or what?"

Harry's smile broadened. "Come now Malfoy, are you really that keen to find out what my Godfather taught me?" Harry stood there looking straight into Malfoy's eyes, desperately hoping that nobody would call his bluff on this. Sirius had always told him to bluff with confidence, he only hoped he was convincing enough.

"You don't scare me Potter." Malfoy said sounding a little nervous.

"Really?" Harry said quietly. "Perhaps you'll be sorted into Gryffindor if you are really that brave?"

Malfoy shifted a little nervously. "You're not worth it Potter. Not worth it at all. Come on Crabbe, Goyle. Let's go."

Harry remained standing until the boys had left their compartment and then turned to face Ron and Dean.

"What … what did your Godfather teach you?" Asked Dean a little nervously.

"Well, I could probably have turned Malfoy's hair pink." Said Harry conversationally. "But I'm not sure it would work as I've never done it before."

"Turn his hair pink?" Dean asked. "But I thought – Malfoy acted as if …"

Harry smiled at them, a genuine smile not the one he had turned on Malfoy. "Yeah, but it's what Malfoy thought I could do that mattered right?"

"You mean you were bluffing?" Dean asked startled.

"Of course! I'm only a first year, what do you think?"

"Cool!"

Harry turned to look at Ron who was looking at him warily. "Honest Ron, I don't know anything I could have done to hurt them I was just bluffing."

"OK."

"Really." Harry said firmly

"Yeah." But Ron didn't sound too convinced and Harry's heart sank a little. Maybe he had bluffed too well.

"What does Mudblood mean?" Dean asked them curiously.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances, momentarily and silently calling a truce for Dean's sake.

"Ignore him, it's just a stupid insult." Ron said.

"Yeah, idiots like Malfoy think just because someone's parents are Muggles that makes them lesser somehow." Harry said. "It's nonsense, ignore it."

"Yeah most pureblood families have Muggle in them somewhere so it's all ridiculous anyway."

"Forget about him."

The door swung open again and the boys looked up nervously. "Anything off the trolley dears?" A kindly looking witch asked.

* * *

_A/N OK, finally updating again and I've changed chapters 4 & 5 so you might want to re-read them. This chapter was originally going to includesome other things but I wanted to make this scene a little longer so they fell out, one into the amended chapter 5 and the rest have moved forward slightly._


	8. Chapter 7

Some of this was inspired by a song. A song I doubt you will ever have heard of, but I give credit where it is due, to the tear-filled 'Sometimes' by Fascinating Aida. This song was the inspiration, not for Minerva having a past (I always knew she had one) but for revealing what that past was to me I'm sorry that it was so long in coming, I just hope you are still reading. Please review and let me know what you think. It is an AU so things don't happen quite as the books, some of it is similar though so I have spared the description of the actual sorting since there are no surprises in there.

**Chapter seven: Sometimes**

Sometimes Ron wasn't sure what to think. On the one hand, Harry Potter was a hero; he'd got rid of You-Know-Who when he was just a baby. But everyone knew that Sirius Black was You-Know-Who's right hand man and, since he had raised Harry, Harry was sure to be dark. But now, he, Ron, was sitting in a carriage with Harry and Harry seemed, well, almost normal. And he seemed to know all about Muggle stuff and everyone knew he must have been taught to hate Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was confusing.

Then he had threatened that Malfoy boy – well of course, Ron knew that the Malfoy's were dark. Ron's dad had complained often enough about Lucius Malfoy. So, threatening Malfoy was good because he was standing up for Dean and Ron, but Ron had to wonder, what sort of dark spells might Harry know that got Malfoy scared. Just as Ron was trying to work through his feelings, the door to their compartment opened again. A girl with lots of brown hair looked in.

"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy called Neville has lost one." She asked.

"No, sorry." Harry said. "He came in here a few minutes ago and asked and we told him we hadn't seen it."

"Oh dear. He is getting quite worried. Some of the older students have not been very nice."

"Sorry we can't help." Dean said. "We've only got an owl and a very shy rat in here."

"Honestly, I think he's more sulking than shy." Ron said, grinning at Dean.

"I'm Hermione Granger." the girl introduced herself, "And you are?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

"Really? I've read all about you. You're in …"

"Well whatever you've read, I bet its rubbish." Harry said, "Most of what's written about me is, so I don't really want to hear it thanks."

Hermione frowned. "No need to be rude!" she said indignantly, "I just wanted to read as much as I could so I'd be prepared for school. It's not my fault you don't like what's written." She glared at him.

There was a slightly uncomfortable pause. Just as Hermione turned to leave, Harry spoke, "Sorry, I guess I'm just fed up with people making, you know, like their own mind up and stuff when they don't know, they don't know anything."

"Assumptions, you mean." Hermione looked at him. "I'm sorry then too. I'll try not to do that. But there are some really interesting things that have been written about you, you know. I was just wondering, I mean, people have different theories and …"

Harry looked annoyed again. "Well, like I said they are all rubbish and I don't want to talk about it."

There was another awkward pause. "Well I better go and help Neville." Hermione said, "Nice to meet you. I expect we'll see each other later." She addressed that last comment mostly to Dean and Ron, but if Harry noticed he didn't say anything.

Both Dean and Ron muttered goodbyes a second too late, as Hermione shut the door firmly behind her.

"I guess we ought to get changed into our school robes." Ron said, desperate to break the silence and the three boys started pulling out their trunks to get ready. Sometimes Ron just wasn't sure what to think.

* * *

Most of the time Minerva was content with her life. She had no reason not to be. She enjoyed her job, and she had good friendships with most of her work colleagues (with a few obvious exceptions). Most of the time she couldn't imagine any other life and would be happy if things never changed. Most of the time nothing was missing from her life, nothing at all. And this time of year was always so busy, there was almost too much going on, it sometimes felt like there weren't enough hours in the day. But sometimes, sometimes she noticed it. Like there was a piece of the jigsaw missing.

It struck her at the strangest times, it wasn't something regular, wasn't something she could predict and prepare for. It always came quite suddenly, when she was most vulnerable to it. And it came then. As she stood there waiting for the first years to arrive, she suddenly felt so tired and she wished …

She fiddled with her scarf. She always wore it on the first day of term, as a good luck charm. The scarf was part of her life, like that box of memories she kept closed up and regularly dusted by hand; somehow she couldn't stand the thought of the house elves, or anyone else, touching it. It was silly really. There wasn't that much in it, just a few old photos, a couple of letters, and a few other bits and pieces. It was meaningless to anyone but her. She couldn't remember the last time she opened the box, but she knew its contents off by heart.

She heard the voices of the older students as they crowded into the great hall. A raucous laugh rang out above the others; it could only be one of the Weasley twins. What had they in store for her this year she wondered? Oh the times in the last two years, that she had retired to her rooms at the end of the day and laughed her head off at whatever they had done to cause their latest detention. For a moment a smile flickered on her lips. 'No one could be as funny as you, Terry, but at least I still know how to laugh.'

Then her mood came crashing back down. Sometimes she just felt so tired and she wished that she could see his smile again. His smile always made her so much better. She always said it had healing powers. She was sure not even Albus, who seemed to know so much, knew that sometimes she still wept in the dark. 'I wish I could see you, the while.' she whispered.

The doors opened and in walked the new first years. Minerva shook herself out of her feeling and looked down at the crowd before her, searching it for one face. He was there, looking happy but nervous, as they all were. She caught his eye and gave him a slight smile. Stepping forward she surveyed the group again until they were all quiet.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." she said.

Minerva tried to pretend throughout the sorting that she was equally as interested in all the students, but, in truth, it was only one person she was interested in. And the hat seemed to take its time with him. It may have been Minerva's imagination, it often seemed that things took longer when one cared more about the results. Finally the hat shouted out "Gryffindor!"

Minerva let out the breath she hadn't even been aware she had been holding. The hope that had kindled in her when she first heard Harry's story crystallised. He is a Gryffindor. While part of her wanted to shout out 'Black raised him right, he must be innocent!' the other, more cynical part, interjected 'Gryffindor doesn't mean good, no matter how fond you are of your own house.' But she couldn't help believing. Couldn't help hoping. Couldn't help knowing in her heart.

That evening, as she closed her door on the world outside, she started laughing. One of her favourite – no not favourite, Minerva McGonagall didn't have favourites. One of her most memorable students was innocent of the horrible things she had thought he had done. 'Possibly innocent,' she reminded herself 'possibly.' But, for the moment, Minerva refused to listen to that inner, sensible, voice. He was innocent. She knew it in her heart the way she had never known it, never understood it, when she believed he was guilty. That young boy, with the laughing grey eyes, who'd caused her so much trouble, who'd reminded her so much of another laughing young man, many years beforehand. Another young man …

And suddenly there were tears in amongst the laughter as she wept for all the laughing young men she had known, who had been through so much, who had suffered so much. And of all the times the laughter had turned to tears. And of what was to become of the laughing young men she knew now, would their laughter turn to tears too? In a few years time would she be weeping for the Weasley boys, for Harry, as she had wept for James, for Sirius, for Benjy, for Remus? Would she know anew the pain she had felt, as she had wept for all the other laughing young men and women who she had nurtured before the last war who had, either never left it, or left a part of themselves behind in it; and as she had wept for those before them, for those for whom Grindelwald was the thing in the dark to be feared; for Terry?

Sometimes, she felt so old, and, as the tears fell silently down her cheeks, she closed her eyes and whispered, "I just wish you would walk through the door."

* * *

Sirius knew it was stupid, but he had to come north, get as close as possible to Hogwarts on this special day. It was ridiculous of course. What could it matter how far away he was? He couldn't see Harry no matter what.

Sometimes Sirius wished he'd never taken Harry. As he lay down and tried to sleep all he could think about was Harry, his first day at school and how hard it must have been for him. Was he all right? How had the other Gryffindors, for Sirius had no doubt that Harry would be in Gryffindor, treated him? He remembered the day so well, that day he had gone to the Dursley's and seen Harry, seen how he was treated. He had reacted on instinct but he wondered; had he done the right thing?

He knew Harry had been happy growing up, Harry had been such a loving, joyful, child. And he knew that Harry would never be that free at the Dursley's, because Harry had been free. No matter that they had been in hiding, he had had the freedom of a happy childhood. But now Sirius wondered, as he had wondered occasionally in the past, had he, in the long run, made Harry's life harder?

Nothing was going right. Sirius had known, intellectually, that finding one rat in the whole of the country was not going to be easy, especially not when the last clues he had were nearly ten years old. But somehow he had never really believed that he might have been searching for a couple of months without a single clue. There had been absolutely nothing to give him hope, and today, such an important day for Harry, had brought it home to him with a bump. He had had nine wonderful years with Harry but they were over.

Sometimes Sirius wondered what the point was anymore of anything. What was he ever going to achieve with this search? What was he ever going to achieve with the rest of his life? Perhaps he should just give up and go abroad somewhere, far away, forget about this, start a new life?

Harry didn't need him any more – or rather, he was never going to be able to be there when Harry needed him. The search was hopeless, so why was he bothering at all? If he could never be with Harry, did it matter whether he was in the same country or not? Did it even matter if he was free? Maybe he should just allow himself to get caught, go to Azkaban? It wasn't like he was going to be able to make many more happy memories anyway.

Suddenly he heard a faint noise and felt the breeze of an owl's flight into the cave. He looked up, and there she was. Harry's owl. He retrieved the letter and she nibbled his hand affectionately before flying off. His hands trembled slightly as he opened the scroll. As he read the letter the cold he was feeling started to dissipate as he was filled with a warm glow.

_Dear Snuffles,_

_I'm in Gryffindor. I've made friends with a boy called Dean and I've threatened Draco Malfoy. I'm going to try and turn his hair pink. Malfoy's hair not Dean's hair, I think Dean likes his hair black. I'm going to bed now but I'll write more soon._

_I love you._

_Harry_

As he read the note for the third time, a big grin crossed his face. Sometimes Sirius knew that taking Harry was the best thing he had ever done.


	9. Chapter 8

This is especially for the two people, PissedBeyondRecognition13& SailorHecate, who reviewed chapter 6 yesterday and asked for a quick update. I'm hoping that makes up for the huge delay in between chapters 6 & 7. This is a shortishchapter, sorry, but it was kind of complete the way it was, adding in more made it seem forced.

**Chapter Eight: Of Rats and Toads**

_Dear Harry,_

_Congratulations for getting into Gryffindor – not that there was ever any doubt in my mind. I know you would have done well in any House you were placed in (even the dreaded S!) but I know the hat has placed you correctly. You are a true Gryffindor – I've always known it._

_Now I'm going to start this letter with a warning – I love to hear from you, I miss you so much, but you mustn't write to me too often – once a week at most. Unless, of course, it is an emergency, you know I will always be there for you if you need me. And you mustn't keep my letters either. It's too risky that someone might come across them and work something out. But you are a sensible boy; I know you know that._

_Be careful of that Malfoy boy. If he is who I think he is, his mother is one of my cousins – and I know I told you all about my family. And his father paid a lot of money to stay out of jail when they were arresting Death Eaters. I won't say don't get into a fight with him – you've got to do what is right and I know you will. But don't provoke him. Never start a fight, but always end one – a good rule to live by; one I wish I'd known when I was your age. Now how irritating a thing for me to say is that? Sorry, I can't help it. Somewhere over the years with you I seem to have grown up. It's a tragedy, really it is, and I'm sure it's all your fault!_

_I'm glad you've made a friend; I can't wait to hear more about him, and all the other people you meet. Serious note here though, Harry. Don't worry about it if people don't seem to like you at first. You know what we talked about, how people will have these preconceived notions about you, simply by what they have heard, or read, about me. Don't let it get to you; ignore it when you can. You just go on being the wonderful boy we both know you are, and they'll come round. It may take some time, but, although it may not feel like it, you do have that time. _

_Now, as for the pink hair thing, my best advice is to go for a time delay, and make sure you are nowhere near the boy when the spell takes effect. I know, that means you miss the moment, but it also means they can't blame you – well at least, not so easily, especially because you are not supposed to know how to do that sort of thing yet. Remember, the best prank is one that they know you did, but can't prove it! You can add the time delay by using the word "Mora" on an upward flick before saying the rest of the spell. It doesn't work on all spells (in fact, have fun working out which ones it does work on!), but it will on this one. When you get more practice, you'll find you can adjust the delay by varying the wand flick, initially, however, I think you are going to have to trust to luck on the timescale._

_I love you._

_I miss you._

_Snuffles_

Sirius sealed the letter and attached it to the owl, before sitting back and thinking. Malfoy, he hadn't thought of that. It was a possibility. From what he had gathered, the Death Eaters were still pretty upset with Wormtail, blaming him for Voldemort's disappearance. Malfoy was pretty high up in their ranks, it is just possible that he might know something. Smiling at the irony that the Death Eaters might actually be able to, unwittingly, help him capture one of their own, he transformed and headed off. It was a fair hike to Malfoy Manor, but at least he had a potentially useful destination in mind.

* * *

Harry sat down on his bed to write his letter. The first week at Hogwarts had been hectic. The first year boys were a mixed group. Dean, being Muggle-born, had been absolutely fine with Harry. Of course it hadn't taken long for someone to fill him in, but it seemed Dean was prepared to give Harry the benefit of the doubt, judging him on his behaviour rather than on what others said. 

Ron and Neville, being both pure-bloods, had had their own ideas. However they had come to a sort of uneasy peace. Even if it was because they were worried about what Harry might have learnt from Sirius, at least it meant that they were polite. Neville had actually started talking to Harry on his own after an incident with Malfoy the previous day, an incident for which Harry had sworn revenge on Neville's behalf.

Seamus was a bit harder. It seemed his mother had warned him not to get too close to "that Potter boy" just in case. When the others were there he was polite enough, but he avoided being alone with Harry.

Harry didn't really talk to the girls much. He'd come to the conclusion that girls were kind of weird when they were eleven. It seemed the feeling was mutual because they didn't talk to the boys much either. Except Hermione Granger who seemed determined to corner him. She was a bit irritating about it to be honest. She would not stop trying to ask Harry questions about things she had read and he had taken to deliberately avoiding her.

_Dear Snuffles,_

_Am settling in OK here. Most people are being OK with me. I know it is going to take some time though, just like you told me. Some people are being dead stupid about things but I think they'll get over it._

_Potions is horrible. You will never guess who the Professor is. I heard so many stories about him from you and he is just like you said! Sallow skin, hooked nose and greasy hair – you guessed it yet? I'm having a hard time not referring to him by your old nickname for him actually. But he is horrible enough to me without me calling him Snivellus. He took five points off me in our first ever lesson just because I hadn't memorized the textbook – although Hermione obviously had and he refused to ask her anything! According to the older boys he hates all Gryffindors, but we think he hates me especially._

_The boys in my dorm are all right. _

The door opened and Harry hurriedly hid his parchment under his pillow and turned round. Dean poked his head round the door and said "Have you seen Trevor?"

"Has he gone missing again?"

"Yeah, Neville's frantic so I said I'd help look."

"Give us a second, and I'll come too."

Harry put his inkbottle and quill away and went out the door to help. Soon all five Gryffindor first-years were scouring the tower for Neville's toad. When he was finally located (under one of the beds in the fifth year boys dorm) the boys were chased back to their own dorm by an irritated Percy Weasley.

"You really need to get a cage or something for Trevor you know, Neville." Dean pointed out, "We've been here less than a week and I can't remember a day when he hasn't gone missing."

"It's no good, he'd just escape. He doesn't like cages." Neville said gloomily, clutching the toad to him.

"Wish Scabbers would escape or something." Ron said, "He still refuses to come out of his box. I've got him some fudge flies from Fred, he likes those." Ron knelt by the cage and started trying to coax his rat out with a fudge fly.

The other four boys exchanged a glance. "Ron, you are sure he is, you know, actually in there aren't you?" Seamus asked.

"Of course! What do you mean?"

"Well it's just that …", Seamus trailed off uncertainly.

"It's just that none of us have ever seen so much as a whisker of him." Dean added, "It's like he's, I don't know, invisible or something."

"I think he might be ill." Ron said, "He is usually a very friendly rat. Maybe he really misses Percy."

"Does he always turn invisible when he's ill?" Seamus asked. Ron merely glared at him in response.

"Well, perhaps Percy could, you know, visit him or something." Harry suggested, not quite believing he was saying it. Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. Harry just shrugged in response. It had been the best idea he could come up with.

Ron opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the commotion outside. The boys looked at each other puzzled. Dean poked his head outside the door. "What's going on?" He called.

Harry couldn't hear the whole response; he just heard something about Slytherin and Great Hall. Suddenly he remembered. "Come on!" he shouted, "Let's go see."

The five boys ran down towards the Great Hall. There was a crowd of laughing people. They pushed their way through and there, in the middle, was Draco Malfoy, shaking with fury, with bright pink hair.

"It worked." said Harry in awe, "It actually worked!"

"Cool." Dean said grasping Harry's shoulder. "Dead cool."

"Wicked!" said Ron from Harry's other side.

Harry looked across at Neville. "No one messes with my dorm-mates." he said. Neville didn't say a word. He just stood there while the biggest grin Harry had ever seen, slowly spread across his face. 'Job done.' Harry thought delightedly.


End file.
